Scabs
by Kitty O
Summary: Follow up of Scars. "Merlin suddenly found himself remembering why he bothered. This was a much better reason, after all, than some distant destiny." Arthur is concerned by Merlin's scars, and Merlin's sick and tired. No slash


_I had a lot of requests for a follow-up of "Scars", which focuses on Arthur. I was a little surprised, actually, because the stories I don't think are so exciting never fail to be the most popular. What can I do? So here's the follow-up, still no slash (of course, __**Sasha Justine**__; I don't write slash, promise!). Oh, and as __**warriorlightangel**__pointed out, I forgot a really big scar. *winces* Oops! I mention it this time._

Scabs

A Merlin Fanfic by Kitty O

If Arthur noticed that Merlin was sullen and silent that morning, he didn't comment. If he noticed that Merlin was actually on time, he didn't say a thing.

But Merlin thought it more likely that he just didn't notice. The prince was a good man, but he, like his father, had the talent of not seeing what was under his very nose.

Scars, for example.

Now, Merlin knew that wasn't really fair. He himself hadn't noticed until that very morning that he was covered in red and white lines, some just a discoloring of skin and others etched deep into the warlock's flesh. Merlin had completely missed seeing them until that morning, but now that he knew they were there, the scars were so painfully, glaringly obvious that it was almost embarrassing.

When he reached across the covers to make Arthur's bed, he couldn't help but see the white lines that completely circled his wrists.

When he bent to pick something up, he could see his chest through the gap at his neckline. Usually his neckerchief would've prevented that, but he'd been in too much of a hurry to put it on to today, so he could clearly see the red, faded burn that covered a good deal of his torso.

When he gathered the things Arthur needed for his impromptu hunting trip, he couldn't help but notice the marks on his arm.

Arthur saw none of these things. Or maybe he did see, but was simply used to the scars and didn't concern himself about them.

_Stupid, stupid prince. _

By the time Arthur, Merlin, and several knights left for the trip, Merlin was dreadfully sick of himself _and_ of the prince. And they had barely even spoken that morning.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur, for his part, felt a strange uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong with Merlin, he knew, when the servant steadfastly refused to participate in their usual banter. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur did what many men and women would do when faced with a problem they didn't understand—ignore a festering, obvious injury and hope it would go away by itself, hope it would scab over and stop being trouble. Arthur had lived through approximately two decades, and this course of action rarely failed.

He ignored the feeling in his stomach, ignored the glum look on Merlin's face, ignored the fact that something was wrong.

But he couldn't ignore Merlin's magnificent fall a few minutes into the trip.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Besides being sick of Arthur and himself, Merlin found himself rather disgusted with his lot in life in general.

Especially that cursed clumsiness.

He'd never know how he managed to fall off his horse, but one moment he was on the saddle, and the next the seat underneath him was sliding, the horse seemed to be tipping, the colors of the world blurred…

And then he was bouncing off the trail, rolling and striking tree roots and falling down the steep incline that had come out of nowhere. The earth seemed to pull down on him suddenly, bashing him against its face and then throwing him back into the air.

Then he rolled to a painful stop at the foot of whatever hill he'd just discovered, and lay there, shocked, his mind frozen into just the word, _Whhhaaa…?_

When he finally realized what just happened and his heart had stopped pounding in panic, he decided that he didn't really feel like getting up. He didn't want to move, and so he didn't, just lay there in darkness with his face towards the tops of the trees.

A voice floated down the incline on the wind, reaching Merlin's ears. "_Honest_ly, _Mer_lin, this is ridiculous… There's _no one _clumsier—Merlin? _Merlin_!" Worry began to edge sneakily into Arthur's words. "Get up!"

Merlin wondered briefly why the world was black and found that his eyes had closed somewhere between the horse's back and the floor of the forest. "Uh… no," he answered.

There was the sound of rustling leaves and cracking twigs added to the normal birdsong and chattering of the forest, along with some grumbling from a certain blond prat. Arthur was crashing down the slope on his way to his servant, calling back to the knights to wait where they were. Merlin listened to his progress.

"Merlin," he said again, and this time the voice came from right next to the servant. "Get up; we've just started…"

Merlin felt a hand touch his shoulder and groaned, squeezing his eyes tighter. "No," he insisted childishly. He didn't _want_ to.

"Where does it hurt?" asked the prince.

"Ribs," grunted Merlin.

Merlin felt cool air against his midsection, and he couldn't feel the coarse fabric of his shirt against it anymore.

"I don't see anything. I don't think anything's broken… Merlin, what's that?"

"What?"

"That mark…"

Merlin opened his eyes and lifted his head, trying to see his chest. The moment he did, the memory hit him. Her large blue eyes, the burning smell of cloth and skin, the electric feel of lightning running through his body…

_You should not have killed my friend. _

"That's nothing," said Merlin. "It's an old scar, an accident. Doesn't hurt."

He looked up into Arthur's eyes, and then let his head fall back to the ground. Arthur's blue eyes were filled with friendly concern, his eyebrows drawn together.

His friend was worried about him.

Arthur, his best friend, was concerned about the scars on Merlin.

Merlin suddenly found himself remembering 'why he bothered'. That was a much better reason, after all, than some distant destiny.

Smiling slightly, Merlin had to add, "If you think that's bad, you should see my back."

He hadn't meant it literally, but Arthur immediately put his hands on Merlin's side, pushing him over onto his back, careful of his bruised ribs. His forehead creased with alarm.

"Arthur, I was kidding…!"

The shirt was pulled away from Merlin's back, and Arthur made an odd sound that in anybody else would be a gasp.

"What in the _world_… _Where _did you get those?"

Merlin strained his neck, but he couldn't see. "Various places. One from some kind of monster. We run into those a lot, you know. The small white ones… Remember that mace fight we had when we first met? That's where. And put down my shirt. It's kind of chilly out here."

Arthur obeyed, giving his servant an incredulous look.

Merlin smiled a little at that, amused. The warlock felt better right then than he had all day. Turned out all he needed today was a spill down a steep slope.

"Merlin," said the prince, shaking his head. "You need to be more careful, or you'll get killed."

That's all the man said, but Merlin knew he meant it as a friend.

And Arthur had the oddest feeling after the words left his mouth. Like he wanted to add something to them. Like he wanted to say… 'thank you'. But that was ridiculous. What had Merlin done to deserve thanks except slow down the hunting trip and bruise his ribs?

But as Arthur helped Merlin to his feet and back up the incline, he just couldn't shake the grateful feeling.

How odd.

END


End file.
